


Nightwing'd

by micehell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drama, M/M, an eensy bit dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-04
Updated: 2007-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His life is full of patterns, but he doesn't want to fall into them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightwing'd

His life is full of patterns; some good, most bad. He tries to shut them out when he's off the job, tries to keep separate, but they follow him, even here, touching him in ways he doesn't want. In ways he can't help.

They touch him now, the burn of flesh on flesh. Harsh, painful. What he needs.

He'd told Spencer good night. He'd told him he just wanted to be alone. It had taken him months to get Spencer comfortable enough with his position in their relationship, comfortable enough with _them_ that he'd initiate something, that he'd outright ask for anything, and Jason had turned him down. God knew when he'd get Spencer back to that point again.

But God was very far away tonight, nothing divine in how he was worshiping his own flesh. No salvation in it. Just need.

He'd seen the look in Spencer's eyes, knew the pattern of hurts that had followed him all his very young life, but it hadn't stopped Jason from turning him away tonight. He doesn't want to add to the hurt, but better the small one than this. This scrape of nails, this harsh push in, the thing so deep in him long and hard and necessary, but having nothing of kindness in it, nothing of love. Jason pushed it in deeper, trying not to remember, trying not to see the patterns. Wanting to lose everything but now, and a pleasure too dark to enjoy.

But wanting and having have always been two very different things, and images from their last case are mixing with images of Spencer, images of touching him this way, right on the edge of true pain, right on the edge of taking rather than sharing. He's alone because of that edge. And the fear that he might one day fall over it.

Jump over it.

But he's not alone. He'd been so deep in his own head, his ears filled with strangled moans real and imagined, and at first he just thought it was his own breath he was hearing, that sharp intake, the soft gasp out. But when he can finally look past the darkness crowding behind his eyes, he sees what's in front of him. Sees him. There. Watching.

Shame and need and want war in him for a moment, but he's still Jason Gideon, he's still the one in charge. He can step back from that edge, can stop the movement on his cock, pull the dildo from his body, even though that loss hurts too.

He watches Spencer watching him, and it's a tableau he doesn't know how to break. He thinks he should explain, should be able to articulate why he chose his own hand, the dildo, over the man he'd chosen to pursue despite their working relationship. Regardless of the difference in their ages, even knowing that part of Spencer's attraction to him was his need for a father figure.

Jason's felt many things for Spencer, played many roles in his life, but he's never wanted to be his father. Even now, splayed naked on the bed before him, his flush of embarrassment staining down his chest, just having Spencer watching him like this is keeping him hard. But fantasies are still brushing against Jason's inner eye like wings, keeping the need and darkness close.

Spencer isn't a fantasy, though, complex and real in ways that defy even the best of imaginations, and he doesn't need Jason to break the silence. His face isn't angry or embarrassed, just a little sad, a lot curious, and he asks, "Is it because you don't think I'd approve of rough sex, or is it because you don't think I could handle it?"

And it's neither, of course, just Jason wanting to keep the best thing in his life free from the taint of violence that colors the rest of it, but the question makes him think it through, follow his own motivations. He questions whether he's doing what so many of the others do, treating Spencer like a child that has to be protected. It could be, and maybe he's trying to keep Spencer innocent in his head, in the relationship, not for Spencer's sake, but rather his own. But that's a fantasy that's just as dangerous as the ones that had been playing through his head, through his hands, tonight. His, "I'm not sure I can," is more an admission than an answer.

Spencer just nods, and Jason can see he understands, what he's said and what he hasn't. "We spend so much time looking for the darkness, but sometimes we don't have to look at all."

It's like absolution, the feeling that's he's not alone in this. He's always known it, _known_ it, but never at this visceral level that's like a warmth spreading through him.

The warmth isn't just in him, though, Spencer standing closer, and his nearness, the smell of arousal on him, triggers responses Jason's still not comfortable with. It doesn't stop him touching himself, though, from touching the cock that's still twitching with need.

He wants to breathe Spencer in, to bury his face in his hair, fingers twining deeply in it, holding him still -- _Captive_ , the fantasy whispers -- even while he comes, but he's brought up short when Spencer says, "There's nothing in you I can't face."

It's not said as a question, but Jason hears the hidden one all the same. _Is the same true for you?_ As if the potential for schizophrenia would scare Jason off where the work and age issues haven't. Jason's far more afraid of himself, even now, but this time when he reaches out to touch, it's not himself. His need for Spencer is stronger than fear, the need for closeness greater than his need for distance.

The kiss is hard, teeth and urgency in it, and Spencer's hand is over his now, both of them holding tight to his cock, wringing his orgasm from him like blood from stone. But the darkness that's been living behind his eyes washes away in a shower of lights as he comes, rainbow sparkles drowning in a sea of white. He can't breathe, Spencer's mouth on his, but he doesn't care. It's the little death, and it's Spencer, and that's enough to chase back the demons.

For a while.

/story


End file.
